


Rite of Spring

by DameRuth



Series: Flowers [19]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Alien Sex, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24756769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DameRuth/pseuds/DameRuth
Summary: The "Flowers!verse Easter Special" gets underway, and the game's afoot. Ten/Jack, human/alien slash (plus fluff).[Continuing the Teaspoon imports, originally posted 2008.04.24 - 2008.05.13. For the record, this shows my headcanon of Jack acting as protector of Cardiff, and all the peaceful beings who seek refuge there, not just fighting the bad ones.]
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Jack Harkness
Series: Flowers [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/14017
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter is G-rated; the rest of it may not get "that* hardcore (more like "hard R"), but I thought I'd better go for an "adult" rating to be safe.

The TARDIS whipped and tumbled through the Vortex, a bubble in the river of Time. The ship and her pilot easily navigated the maelstrom, old and experienced travelers that they were. The Doctor had a set of coordinates, a four-dimensional here-and-now, firmly in his sights and little care for the probabilities that went streaming past . . .

. . . Until the TARDIS heard the beacon, and told him about it. Only a few hours offset from his projected course, and flagged as being of the utmost importance (mauve, if not positively puce) — how could he resist making a slight diversion? It wouldn’t take him far off-track. In fact, the spatial location was no more than half a mile distant from his initial target. Still Cardiff, still Easter Sunday.

Hm. Given the esoteric landscape of Cardiff, the Doctor hoped he wasn’t picking up signs of a potential Rift problem. Normally he stayed clear of such things, letting Jack administer his territory as he saw fit, but it couldn’t hurt to check. He might even manage to head off some incipient problem — a stitch in time, and all that.

He sent the TARDIS diving down through a whorl in the Vortex; the tight turn was a difficult maneuver and they landed with a tooth-rattling thump. The TARDIS hummed at him, radiating a sense of smug achievement, and he gave her control panel a pat before grabbing his coat from a coral strut and making for the door. He swept the coat on in a smooth graceful arc as he bounded down the ramp, curious about what he might find.

The small, green park was surprisingly peaceful (public holiday, the Doctor reminded himself). Everything was damp and sweet-smelling from recent rain, but the sky’s overcast was high and pale, unlikely to shed more water anytime soon. It took a mere moment’s scanning with the sonic screwdriver to find the source of the signal: a blocky little device that fit easily into the Doctor’s hand. It had been sealed in a contemporary zip-lock plastic bag and fastened to the trunk of a shrub with a few twists of sticky tape that pulled free fairly easily when he tugged at the package.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow and wriggled back out from under the foliage, shaking water and damp leaves unconcernedly out of his hair. He straightened, pleased that he’d managed to balance on his hands and toe-tips — no muddy knees for the TARDIS to clean from his suit later. She always grumbled about such things. He turned his prize over, inspecting it without bothering (or needing) to remove it from its protective bag. Just a beacon, not a bomb, or trap, or anything particularly exciting — other than the fact that it didn’t belong in 21st century Cardiff, and it seemed to have been placed strictly to capture his attention.

His mind kicked into gear, generating and examining hypotheses as he absently punched the “off” button on the beacon with this thumb and slipped it into his coat pocket for later consideration. A split second later, his well-developed instincts gave him the sensation of being watched. His head jerked up for a wary scan of his surroundings. The only other people visible were a little girl and her father, sitting on a park bench nearby . . .

No. That wasn’t right. They hadn’t been there mere minutes before when he’d ducked beneath the shrubbery in search of the signal — and they were both looking straight at him. His eyes narrowed. A man and a girl together, but the dynamic between them was wrong; the man (fine suit, shaven head, tidy goatee) seemed more of a bodyguard than a parent, every line of his body professional. And _she_ was looking right at with a half-smile that made his flesh crawl.

He was getting too old to play games. Raising his chin slightly, he strode decisively towards the bench, keeping his eyes fixed on the girl. As he approached, she smiled at him, her expression knowing and subtle. He came to a halt before her, feet shoulder width apart, hands in his coat pockets and weight forward on the balls of his feet: confrontational, though not outright aggressive. He stared down the length of his nose — and his considerable height — at her and waited. Standing so close, he could be certain that she was no more a little girl than he was a young man. Nor did she belong here, but unless she was inclined to cause trouble he wasn’t about to call her on trespassing. Among other things, it would have been more than a little hypocritical.

She seemed amused, completely undaunted by his height or his glare. The bodyguard was forgotten, irrelevant, as the “girl” and the Doctor took each other’s measure.

“So,” she said, speaking with utter confidence. “You’re right on time. Not a surprise . . . or maybe it is.”

“Who are you, and why did you set the beacon?” the Doctor asked, evenly but coolly. He didn’t entirely like the sense of silent laughter radiating from this not-child.

“Oh, the beacon wasn’t _my_ doing,” she said, tilting her head coyly. “I’m just here doing a favor for the Captain.”

The Doctor raised his eyebrows slightly. “Captain Jack? Harkness?”

“So he calls himself, yes,” she agreed. Then she added playfully, “You should be flattered — he owes me two favors because of you, and he doesn’t go into debt lightly.”

“These favors would be . . .? “

“His first request was to tell him where in Cardiff he could best hide from a man who could see Time.” She smiled again, and it sent a trickle of ice down the Doctor’s spine, though he kept has expression stony.

“And the second?”

“He asked me to give you a message.” From nowhere, she produced a folded piece of paper, smoothly as a gambler of dubious morals might produce a hidden card, and offered it to him in one small, dainty hand. From her smile, she might be offering him an apple from the First Tree of human religious belief. He accepted the note with a Time Lord’s disdainful pride, as if he was the one granting a favor. It was old and effective armor, but he still felt grossly unprotected.

“Done and done!” she said, happily. “Say hello to the Captain for me, when you’ve found him. Good hunting!” She winked, and then hopped from the bench and took off down the path, the silent bulk of her bodyguard following almost mechanically. The Doctor couldn’t help raising his eyebrows as the not-child began skipping just before she passed out of sight round a bend. He didn’t often encounter such well-developed sarcasm.

“Cheeky,” he informed the park at large, impressed in spite of himself. Then he turned his attention to the note.

Lined paper, torn from a notebook. Written in ballpoint pen, in Jack’s familiar, bold English handwriting, was: _Easter egg hunts are traditional. Find me if you can. Go to_ , the flow of English was interrupted with 51st-century shorthand notation indicating a particular spatial location, _and see what you see. — J._

The Doctor blinked at the paper, then, curious, extended the subtle senses he generally kept furled to cut down on peripheral “noise.” Jack normally stood out against the background texture of Reality like a pinprick punched through the black-velvet fabric of the Universe — with a zillion-watt light shining through.

And yes, that pinprick was here, but surprisingly difficult to . . . pinpoint, for lack of a better term. Cardiff was a disquieting place at the best of times, thanks to the Rift, which generated all sorts of echoes and false images like a spatiotemporal hall of mirrors. However, the Doctor usually had little trouble navigating that maze, thanks to a Time Lord’s heredity and training. He never would have thought he’d see the day when he couldn’t find Jack immediately within a range of a few mere miles, Rift or no Rift.

This was . . . unexpected. And intriguing.

A Time Lord didn’t have a hunting instinct in the same way a human did, having evolved to fill a very different ecological niche. But a puzzle, a thing to be considered and picked up and turned this way and that and then solved, was a seductive thing indeed for a member of his species.

The Doctor absently refolded the note and slipped it into a pocket, eyes going unfocused as he sought and found the Earth’s magnetic North Pole as a reference point. Once he had that in mind and took the angle of the Sun into account, he knew where he was and how to find the coordinates in Jack’s note.

Snapping to attention, he strode purposefully in that direction.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor finds what he's looking for . . . and more!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter beta-read by the lovely aibhinn, though I re-edited the chapter after she was done with it, so any errors that crept in are solely mine.

The Doctor reached the coordinates Jack’s note had given and stopped. The street corner was almost empty, probably because of the early hour and the holiday. Hands in pockets, trainers planted firmly at exact-shoulder-width apart, spine perfectly perpendicular to the pull of gravity, the Doctor took a moment to feel all the motion that became apparent when he stood still: the Earth spinning on its axis as Cardiff rolled from dawn towards dusk; the greater movement of the planet around its star; the constant quicksilver current of Time; the light breeze that riffled his spiky hair on its way through Cardiff . . .

All of which was doing nothing to help him find Jack.

_See what you see._  
  
A visual clue, then. Chin high, the Doctor began to carefully scan his surroundings, turning to take in a full, circular view from his current location. Everything looked ordinary enough, even with his full attention bringing tiny details into crystalline hyperclarity. Cracks in the pavement, birds flying by overhead (lots of seagulls here in Cardiff), a scatter of flyers and posters on a wall . . .

. . . one of which was wrong, somehow.

Shifting back into action, the Doctor stalked towards the wall, head cocked to one side. A perfectly normal piece of blue paper, sandwiched in between a notice about a flat for rent and the offer of a reward for the return of a lost kitten, but the handwritten message was spelled out in a language and alphabet that wouldn’t exist for another millennium. As he got closer, the Doctor could see an unmistakable pattern to the vertical strokes — Jack’s writing was distinctive in any language.

_So far so good; now . . ._ the note read, and gave another string of coordinates in a different notational system.

That led to a newsstand. The laconic proprietor — who looked normal enough, except for the flicker of a third eyelid when he blinked — scanned the Doctor up and down as if matching a description and then handed over a business card for a florist’s shop with a blunt, "From the Captain."

The florist’s was closed, but it hosted an . . . _interesting_ selection of yet more flyers and notices sellotaped to the inside of its main display window. Several terrestrial and extraterrestrial languages were represented, and one printed sheet featured a grainy mug-shot of Jack’s smiling face along with the English legend, “Have you seen this man? Do you _want_ to?” followed by smaller type, spelling out in 26th-century Meta-English, “Behind you, three meters up.”

After a bit of scrabbling, the Doctor found that an indentation in the facing building’s brickwork housed a handful of fake green Easter grass and a bright orange plastic pull-apart Easter egg. Inside was another piece of folded notebook paper and something small and rattle-y that proved to be a tie tack. The latter was set with a finely-carven cameo rose, white on black; the gold setting had the mellow patina of age.

_One winter rose for another,_ the contemporary English note read, followed by a complex sequence in binary code.

And so the morning went, as the planet turned on her axis and the distant Sun described an arc through the sky above the thin cloud cover. The Doctor followed Jack's trail of clues, and along the way was treated to some unexpected sights.

A sculpture-fountain which most citizens probably considered abstract modern art was, in fact, a stunning example of Fourth Dynasty Pazhnet aluminum work in the classical _ah'za neuna_ style . . . except this version was nearly brand-new, rather than thousands of years old . . .

A splash of vivid graffiti on a warehouse wall spelled out a Vench family's clan-claim, marking the borders of a territory-in-exile and (since Vench never passed up an advertising opportunity) offering discount prices on repeat shipping business to anyone who could read Vencha'ti . . .

From a grassy median in an older street, a quartet of handsome trees covered with golden spring blossoms sent a rich and unmistakable perfume into the air to compete with the usual Cardiff aromas of rain, burning fossil fuels and the sea. The Doctor stopped dead in his tracks, to the annoyance of a small group of pedestrians who nearly ran into him as he stood staring. One of them jostled the Doctor in passing, but it didn't register over the shock of seeing four fully-grown Kotok trees -- one of the rarest and most sought after ornamental plants in this galactic sector, extinct in their natural habitat and perilously endangered everywhere else -- flourishing peacefully in Wales . . .

Several pairs of alert, dark eyes watched the Doctor warily from the shadows of a derelict building -- a nest of Weevils in hiding for the day. They were timid creatures by nature, only becoming dangerous under certain circumstances. The Doctor studiously ignored their scrutiny; acknowledging their presence would surely frighten them and might lead to an attack. He found his clue and left in peace, to everyone's relief . . .

Alienness and temporal anachronisms riddled the streets of Cardiff. Once he knew to look, there were hints everywhere of a thriving, secret life just under the mundane surface. Somehow, the Doctor didn't think it was coincidence that the clues he was following took him past some of the city's more unusual features.

Lost in thought, he absently unwrapped a foil-covered chocolate egg found with the latest clue. He nibbled appreciatively, his racing, abstracted thoughts separate from but not eclipsing the sensual pleasure of the sweet. There was a pattern. He had enough data points now to be certain -- he was being led in a labyrinthine backtracking spiral, but always around a common center. A single fixed point, as it were.

The Doctor finished the chocolate and rolled the foil into a tight pill that he dropped into the coat pocket where most of the clues had ended up — the exception being the tie tack, which now graced the brown floral-print tie he wore. He’d been afraid something so small would have been lost outright in the dimensionally-transcendental chaos of his pocket contents. The latest clue followed the foil -- he didn't think he'd need it.

If he was correct, Jack would be waiting, like a spider in its web, over _this_ way.

The further he went, weaving through streets and alleys, trying to find the straightest path through the city, the more convinced the Doctor was that he’d found the pattern. The sharp, tingling sensation of fixedness grew ever stronger, but he still couldn’t pinpoint an exact location. That teasing almost-perception stirred the blood and complemented the buzz of mental activity the Doctor had been experiencing while solving Jack’s puzzle-hunt.

He was pacing down an alley, all of his senses fizzing and popping with the sensation of something almost-but-not-quite “visible” when the air pressure shifted unexpectedly. Startled, the Doctor ducked and looked up in time to glimpse a swift, narrow shape that passed overhead with a leathery swish of wings.

The silhouette of a pterodactyl was unmistakable. And since there was likely only one person in Cardiff who kept a prehistoric animal as a watchdog, that meant . . .

A fire escape back towards the entrance of the alley rattled. The Doctor turned and saw a humanoid shape drop the last few feet to the ground. The outline was blurry, fogged and wispy, but even with that frosted-glass distortion the Doctor knew he'd found his solution. A bare fraction of a second later, the blurred figure did something to one wrist and the distortion vanished.

Suddenly blazingly clear and obvious to all the senses, Jack shook his head admiringly. “You’re good,” he said. “I figured it’d take a few more turns before you figured out the pattern. Good thing Myfanwy was keeping an eye out — I woudn’t’ve wanted to be caught napping.”

The Doctor, knowing full well that Jack didn’t sleep, snorted at the exaggeration and began to walk towards him. Another rush of air made him stop and duck again as Myfanwy came in low and fast, braking at the last second to drop lightly to the ground next to Jack. The pterodactyl (pteranodon, really, with that head shape) ignored the Doctor, but eyed Jack expectantly.

“Good girl, Myfanwy,” Jack cooed. He rummaged around in his greatcoat pocket for a moment before pulling out a handful of foil-wrapped chocolate eggs. “Good watchdog.” He unwrapped a few pieces of chocolate and tossed them to the expectant pteranodon. They seemed awfully small in relation to Myfanwy’s size, but she caught the treats midair expertly and daintily with the tip of her beak.

When Jack slipped the rest of the chocolate back in his pocket, Myfanwy made a disappointed little caw. “Go on,” Jack said, with a good-natured hand wave. “If I feed you any more you’ll get too fat to fly, and then what good are you?”

Whether or not Myfanwy understood Jack’s words, she could obviously tell there was no more chocolate to be had. Her long, narrow wings swept downwards and she leapt into the air, clearing the alley in seconds.

Jack tilted his head back to follow Myfanwy’s flight. “Probably heading back to the Hub to try and beg more treats off Tosh,” he commented. “She’s on watch today — said she wanted a break from family obligations for a while. Tosh that is, not Myfanwy.”

“I gathered. So -- this is your hiding place?" Extending his senses, the Doctor realized they were standing in an odd pocket of relative "quiet," where the waves and echoes generated by the Rift stilled. Outside, Time and Space broke into ripples and interference patterns, covering and obscuring what lay beneath. Intrigued, he cast around, visually and otherwise, trying to get an idea of the size of their little bubble.

"The cards said it was the best spot, and they're always right, little as I may like it," Jack replied, leaning casually against the wall, watching the Doctor. "Although I did hedge my bets with a personal camo field. Figured the electromagnetics might blur things a bit." He tapped the device strapped to his right wrist, mirroring the Time Agent's wristband on his left arm.

"Cards?" the Doctor asked, looking at him and raising an eyebrow. "Ah! The, er, 'girl' I met today uses cards? That's an interesting medium, no pun intended. Well, maybe a little." He winked, and Jack gave him a long-suffering eyeroll. "I may have to come back sometime and chat with her."

"Well, be sure to take me along to introduce you. Otherwise you'll never get near her."

"Not even if I apply my feckless charm?"

Jack snorted. "Especially not then. She doesn't much care for frivolity -- she's all business."

"Speaking of which," the Doctor began, remembering that Jack had gone into some sort of debt as part of setting up this meeting, "why the elaborate runaround? I was already on my way to visit."

"Figured you were -- but I thought you might like a little tour of my city," Jack responded, in a casual tone that wasn't casual at all, and the Doctor didn't miss the slight emphasis on _my_. It was fitting; fixed nature aside, Jack radiated a perfect one-ness with his surroundings, as if he wore this time and place like a second skin. He pushed off from the wall and began to close the distance between them as he spoke, without hurrying.

"I've been here a long time, and it hasn't all been about fighting the bad stuff," Jack continued, catching and holding the Doctor's gaze with his own. "Good things come through the Rift, and ordinary ones. As much as I can, I've been looking after them, too." A bright flash of Jack's sharp-edged, challenging grin. "It's not as dramatic as haring off through Time and Space to save the Universe, but taking the slow path has its advantages."

"I can see that," the Doctor admitted, tilting his head in acknowledgement. "But I still have the sense there's something more to it." He couldn't help the slight upward quirk of his lips as he watched Jack's approach. Jack's walk was just exaggerated enough to border on a strut. Combined with the unwavering directness of his eye contact, it would have constituted a threat in a different context, but the Doctor had no trouble reading Jack's body language for what it was. This was _display,_ pure and simple, like a peacock flaring its feathers. Jack was putting his city, his work and his handsome self up for admiration.

The Doctor had to admit to himself that it was working very well indeed.

"Well, you drop in from Out There whenever you feel like it," Jack replied with a shrug. "Wouldn't want to make it too easy for you." He stopped, no more than a foot away, radiating the full force of his considerable personality as palpably as the fierce human heat of his body.

"I thought you liked my visits," the Doctor replied. He let the register of his voice drop, and met Jack's intense blue gaze with lazy, half-lidded eyes. Jack's pupils were starting to dilate already -- unexpected, given their basic incompatibility.

"I do," Jack replied with soft intensity and a wicked smile. "But a guy likes to know he isn't taken for granted."

"Oh, there's no danger of that," the Doctor purred back. He inhaled the scent of wool, human pheromones and the unique fragrance of Jack's skin, surprised at his own reaction. There was a pleasantly growing friction between them that, quite honestly, shouldn't have been there. Not across species, not without chemical assistance. Still, it was unmistakable. His heartsbeats began to speed up, and the excitement of puzzle solving began to shade into another sort of arousal altogether. Trust Jack to know that prolonged mental stimulation was nearly as good as foreplay to a Time Lord, and to put that knowledge to use . . .

There was a moment's hesitation, like the breathless stillness before a dropped object hits the ground, and then they were kissing. The Doctor snaked his hands up along Jack's neck, threading his fingers through the silky hair and pulling him deeper into the kiss, while Jack's hands slipped around the Doctor's waist, resting on his hipbones. It was a far more suggestive gesture when directed at a Time Lord than a human, since it put Jack's thumbs resting lightly against two highly sensitive portions of the Doctor's anatomy.

The Doctor rumbled approval, flicking his tongue deep into Jack's mouth; Jack retaliated by slipping his tongue up behind the Doctor's aching front teeth. The minute he applied pressure the hidden gland contracted, flooding the Doctor's mouth with the sweet-sour blend of chemicals designed to promote and enhance desire for members of his species. It was the first physical reflex of Time Lord arousal. Jack responded by pulling the Doctor's crotch flush against his own, leaving no doubt that his own arousal reflexes had been engaged as well.

It was Jack, who still needed oxygen as a matter of habit, who broke lip-lock first. He blinked as higher brain functions began to run again, though his eyes remained huge and dark.

"What the hell was _that_?" he asked in a gratifyingly breathy voice. "You didn't start without me, did you, Doc?"

The Doctor pulled his head back so he could frown at Jack without crossing his eyes, though he allowed the rest of their bodies to remain in contact. "You mean, did I dose myself already? Of course not! Walking the streets in that state would be positively criminal -- not to mention embarrassing. That . . . that was . . . " Understanding sank in, and a wide grin blossomed across the Doctor's face. "That was _spontaneous_!"

"Um, not that I'm complaining, but . . . how?"

"Habituation! Conditioning! The peripheral sensations correlated with arousal. I believe we're beginning to develop a . . . fetish." The Doctor couldn't help grinning more widely as the implications set in. "A paraphilia. A kink. Ooo! I like that, a _kink._ I've never had one before." He dropped his hands to Jack’s shoulders and gave the human a friendly shake for emphasis.

“Doctor? I’m not sure you’re making sense,” Jack began warily.

“Think, Jack! We’ve been using the Holy Grail drug to overcome incompatibility — but given enough repetitions, the brain and nervous system begin to develop a shorthand. We’re learning to get turned on by _each other_ , unnatural as it may be!”

“You mean you’re getting kinky for humans?” Jack asked, disbelieving, but with the hint of a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Not for humans in general, for _you_ ,” the Doctor told him, with maniacal delight. "The chemistry is remarkably specific. Shall we try it again?"

Jack gaped at him for a moment, then responded with another passionate kiss, which the Doctor returned with interest. When they broke apart again so Jack could breathe, the Doctor commented, as if continuing a running conversation, “So what are our options today?” He gave the brick walls of the alley a dubious look.

Jack huffed his breath back out in a laugh. “I never got a chance to get mention it, but this spot's been noticed before. Torchwood built a safe house here, decades back, for when someone or something charged with Rift energy needed to stay out of 'sight.' It’s up on the roof -- I was waiting there when you showed up. It’s not much, but it’s got the basic amenities . . .”

“Including one very important one, I hope,” the Doctor replied, still a bit breathy himself.

“Oh, definitely,” Jack assured him, circling his thumb tips against the Doctor’s abdomen. The Doctor gasped and responded by thrusting his hips human-fashion against Jack’s. Jack groaned in turn. “God, Doc, if we keep this up, neither one of us is gonna be able to climb that ladder.”

“So lead on, Macduff . . .”

“Shakespeare, misquoted! You tease.” Jack gave the Doctor a quick, promissory peck on the lips, then broke free and practically sprinted for the fire escape — with the Doctor following close behind.


	3. Rite of Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Real Life hit like a ton of bricks recently; nothing bad, but no time left for writing, either. Sorry to have been so long completing this. Your patience is appreciated, O Faithful Reader. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to aibhinn for a speedy beta-reading and occasional pokes with a sharp stick to keep me going. ;)

Jack sighed and let his mind settle into the moment as completely as his loose, limp body relaxed against the mattress of the safe-house bed. If perfection could be distilled, it would be this: flat on his back, hands behind his head, riding the endorphin high of some really great (if unconventional) sex. For the space of a few breaths, the Universe was exactly as it should be and Jack wouldn’t change a bit of it.

Even if what the Doctor was currently doing was a little strange.

He was partially curled at the foot of the bed, his upper body draped across Jack’s legs, lapping the sweat from Jack’s belly with great concentration. One long tongue-swipe followed the arc of Jack’s hipbone and ended at a ticklish spot. Jack’s ingrained control limited his response to a slight tensing of the stomach muscles, but it was enough to break the Doctor’s concentration. He looked up and raised his eyebrows questioningly at Jack, as if checking for permission. The irises of the Doctor's eyes were liquid-black in the subdued light of the single bedside lamp, and wisps and strands of his hair trailed in all directions.

“No offense, Doc, but . . . why?” Jack couldn't help asking.

“Sodium, of course -- and chloride, too. Waste not, want not. Good for keeping those neural membrane potentials up. Increases stamina. The pheromone buzz doesn't hurt, either.” The Doctor's sly smile made him look disconcertingly youthful.

"Y'know, this isn't usually what they mean by two people having chemistry."

"Yes, well, we're all about chemistry," the Doctor said cheerfully, before turning his attention to another section of Jack's belly.

"Speaking of which," Jack began. The Doctor cocked an eyebrow at him to show he was listening, though he continued with his grooming. "How far do you think we'll be able to take this? I mean without additional assistance?"

The Doctor paused and rolled onto his side propping his chin on his fist. He licked his lips and gazed at the concrete ceiling as he considered.

They'd managed to get ragingly turned on -- as the scattered clothing decorating the spare little bedsit bore witness; it looked like a wardrobe had exploded -- but had finally needed to resort to a dose of the Holy Grail drug to bring things to completion. Not that Jack was complaining. The long, maddening buildup had yielded positively explosive results once the barriers had been broken. He didn't think he'd seen the Doctor quite so intense since their first night together.

"Weeeeeeelllll," the Doctor drawled. "That's difficult to say, really -- I can't think of a precedent, so it's difficult to predict future responses . . ."

Jack smirked and made a cough that sounded suspiciously like "Time Lord."

The Doctor shot him a dry, sidelong glance. "I don't read cards like your friend," he said. "Cheap tricks are beneath me." He looked back up at the ceiling and wrinkled his nose. "Mostly," he added, with the air of one conceding a point. "But, getting back on topic, I think it's at least possible we could get all the way with it. Pending sufficient habituation and conditioning, of course."

"Huh." It was good to think they wouldn't always be relying on outside chemical help, particularly something as rare and difficult to synthesize as the Holy Grail. "Practice, practice, practice. I can live with that." He couldn't resist adding, "I think we're getting pretty good at this."

"Well, if you say so, I'll take that as an expert opinion," the Doctor replied with a wink, rolling back to drape across Jack's legs.

"Although," Jack continued, managing not to squeak as the Doctor's tongue resumed its travels, "I think I am seeing signs of tolerance building up. It feels like I'm more in control, now." It was true -- with every dose, he was finding himself better able to "ride" the effects of the drug. "And it's been a while since you've marked me," Jack added. Even with their earlier intensity, he didn't have so much as a bruise to show for their time together.

"You sound disappointed," the Doctor replied, pausing long enough to speak. He slid up Jack's body so that he was positioned to lick along the lower edge of Jack's ribs.

"Maybe a little. I like pushing you over the edge."

The Doctor snorted, his breath cool on Jack's damp skin. "Be that as it may, I don't care to be pushed," he said. He met Jack's eyes with a gaze gone deep and black. He ran his tongue-tip along Jack's lowest rib before continuing, "If I mark you," he sucked at a patch of skin, and then suddenly, unexpectedly nipped with force, "it will be because I intend to." He grinned at Jack's startled response, and the expression was so wickedly amused it earned a second type of involuntary twitch from Jack -- which the Doctor was perfectly positioned to feel.

If possible, the Doctor's eyes went even darker and his grin slipped away. Without breaking eye contact, he brushed his lips in a gentle kiss over the nipped spot on Jack's skin, then with unexpected eel-like flexibility, he shifted and wriggled up alongside Jack. He came to rest with his head on Jack's shoulder, one arm draped across Jack's chest and his leg hooked over both of Jack's. Jack automatically curled his arm around the Doctor's narrow shoulders, which put his hand in a perfect position to gently rub the extra-sensitive spot at the back of the Doctor's neck.

The Doctor responded by groaning a happy chord and going bonelessly relaxed, shifting from possessive intensity to limp snuggling in an instant, as mercurial in intimacy as he was in everything else. Jack huffed an amused breath, stirring a few wisps of the Doctor's disorganized hair, which retaliated by tickling Jack's nose. What he could see of the Doctor at this angle was perfectly, superficially human. The only thing that broke the illusion was the body language -- more like a lizard sprawling on a hot rock than a man embracing his lover.

It had been along time since Jack had seen the Doctor so completely relaxed: not since they'd both been different men, traveling together with Rose in what seemed like a half-imagined fairy tale. Jack dared to feel a tiny spark of happiness at finding that shared ease again.

"Now I'm extra-sorry we missed each other at Equinox," Jack commented. "Could have been getting in more practice."

The Doctor raised his head so he could look at Jack. "So, young Mr. Jones told you I stopped by?" he asked, sounding surprised and pleased. "I wasn't sure he would. I get the impression he isn't particularly fond of me."

"It's more that you freak him out, I think."

"Excuse me!" the Doctor interjected, levering himself up on one elbow, his voice squeaking in outrage. "I freak him out? I wasn't the one who introduced myself with a drawn gun!"

Jack suppressed a grin at the Doctor's expression -- all frown and pout and freckles. "I've told you before, he's pretty perceptive."

The Doctor dropped his head back to Jack's chest and grumphed.

"And he absorbed a pretty good dose of propaganda, back when," Jack added, without thinking.

The Doctor tensed slightly, his lean frame coiling along Jack's side. "Torchwood One," he rumbled against Jack's chest without looking up, all playfulness gone. "They had a lot to answer for."

Including the loss of Rose, Jack knew, and he silently cursed himself. Not a good thing to be reminding the Doctor of in this pleasant moment. Still, honesty and memories prompted him to say, "They paid."

Some of the tension went out of the Doctor's body, but his voice was still low and rough when he replied, "All the same, if their tower still stood I'd raze it to the ground." There was no sense of posturing or threat in his words, just a simple, stark statement of truth.

Moot point, since the badly-damaged building had long since been demolished. But Jack understood exactly how the Doctor felt. "Yeah, and I'd help," he said, just as simply, speaking his own truth.

The Doctor's arm tightened momentarily across Jack's chest in silent appreciation. Then the Doctor sighed and relaxed again. "I was wrong," he admitted, "reacting the way I did when you first told me about your Torchwood. I couldn't think past Canary Wharf. Now, though . . . " The Doctor raised his head and pushed away so he could look at Jack again. At such close range, the subdued light clearly picked out the hair-fine circles and whorls of gold hidden in his irises. His expression was solemn. "You've done well, Jack. I'm glad I got to see your city."

Jack closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. It felt like he'd been holding his breath for a century and a half. He pulled the Doctor into a closer embrace and they held the pose for as long as was comfortable, then relaxed into more or less their former configuration.

After a moment's relaxed silence, the Doctor added cheerfully, "Happy Easter, by the way."

Jack couldn't help chuckling.

"What?"

"Just seems like we aren't exactly honoring the holiday spirit."

"Please." Jack could feel, if not see, the Doctor's eyeroll. The tone and gesture reminded Jack unexpectedly of the Time Lord's former incarnation. "Define 'holiday spirit.' Easter is one of the oddest, most cobbled together holidays in this span of Time. I'm still trying to figure out how chocolate eggs fit in with it all."

"Well, if you look at it one way, it's a spring fertility ritual . . ."

The Doctor practically purred and ran a distracting fingertip down the midline of Jack's body.

" . . . and I don't think cross-species male-male sex counts for fertility," Jack finished pointedly, with great concentration, refusing to be distracted. "Otherwise, it's the day of resurrection for the Son of God, which isn't exactly about pleasures of the flesh."

"Oh, I don't know," the Doctor said, with a suspicious lightness. "I believe the words 'he is risen' are involved . . ."

After a moment's shocked silence, Jack began to laugh, hard. It was a rare for him to laugh so completely, and it was as liberating as anything else he'd been doing over the last half-hour.

Eventually he managed to wheeze, "I can't believe you just said that . . . !"

"Just because I don't go around saying such things doesn't mean I don't think them," the Doctor said, reasonably. He'd rolled partially off of Jack so he could watch him convulse, and the corners of the Doctor's eyes were crinkling with pleased laugh-lines. "We don't all say whatever pops into our heads."

"But I do, hmm?" Jack responded in a challenging tone. He slipped down and flicked the tip of his tongue over the Doctor's exposed nipple, tasting honey and vinegar. He was rewarded with the sensation of the Doctor's whipcord body tensing in response.

Jack shot the Doctor his brightest, sexiest grin. "Penny for your thoughts just then."

The Doctor just stared back for a moment, with the disconcertingly blank face he tended to wear when he was too distracted to bother shaping expressions for humans to read. Jack had a moment to wonder if he'd misjudged the refractory time and if he needed to brace himself for a sudden attack, but then the corners of the Doctor's mouth curved into a speculative smile. "I'm thinking you'll need to keep your strength up, if you plan to continue like that."

Moving with typical abrupt speed, the Doctor rolled so he could reach something on the floor next to the bed -- Jack's greatcoat, as it turned out. A quick rummage in the pockets, and he tossed Jack something small and foil-wrapped.

"There we go," the Doctor said, with one of his open-mouthed grins. "Eat up. I knew chocolate eggs would fit in somehow!"

Jack unwrapped the chocolate, laughing. "You really want to cement this kink of yours in place, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah!" the Doctor growled, encompassing an entire chocolate egg in one tongue-stroke.

Jack met the challenge in those dark-chocolate eyes head-on, and bit deeply into the candy he held.


End file.
